


who would have thought

by chasingblue57



Category: Code Black (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-07
Updated: 2017-03-07
Packaged: 2018-09-30 04:37:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10153814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chasingblue57/pseuds/chasingblue57
Summary: “You look like hell,” Noa greets, wearing an amused smirk of a grin as he dark eyes sweep warmly over Mario’s hunched form while he makes his way into the bedroom. (future fic, fluff)





	

“You look like hell,” Noa greets, wearing an amused smirk of a grin as he dark eyes sweep warmly over Mario’s hunched form while he makes his way into the bedroom.

He’s still in his scrubs, covered with blood and a myriad of other stains and tears, when he collapses onto the open left side of the bed, face down with a groan that has her laughter through her admonishment, “No work clothes on clean sheets!” even though it’s a rule they’re both equally bad at following.

Mario doesn’t actually get up, but he does at least folk over onto his side, watching her over the bags settled firmly beneath his eyes, the expression he’s wearing the very definition of dogged.

It gets her attention.

Sighing a little worriedly (because good shift Mario sasses back and bad shift Mario just looks at her with that kind of expression), Noa sets aside the book she’s been reading and fixes him with that clinical, careful doctor’s gaze, all patient but piercing, waiting for him to spills his guts to her the way their patient’s usually do. It gets a quirk of a smile from him, just briefly as he recognizes what she’s doing, and then it’s gone again, replaced by whatever has him so exhausted and miserable.

“Lost a patient tonight,” he finally grunts, morose, before heaving himself up to avoid holding her gaze any longer. Mario busies himself with tugging off his socks and throwing them in the general direction of the hamper, where both articles of clothing completely miss their target and land amongst the joint mess of socks, old scrubs and sweats. Neither of them is particularly good about corralling in their dirty laundry after a long day at work.

“Do you want to talk about it?” She hasn’t actually moved yet, still tucked up against a pair of pillows, watching him sympathetically, letting him come to her the way she always does (and the way he always does in return). It’s just how they work.

And Mario knows he could talk about it, because they often do, but honestly, he’s mostly fine. Tired, emotionally drained and unhappy about the outcome, but the wounds were well past critical when they came in and at least he’d helped give her enough time to say goodbye to her family. “Not tonight,” is the answer he settles on, knowing Noa won’t push for one but will worry until he gives it, and then starts trading the rest of his work clothes for some pajamas. Once he’s got on a pair of flannel pajama pants, he drops back onto the bed, shaking his bad mood off to smile sincerely up at Noa. “How was your day?”

Noa huffs, eyes rolling at the question. “I spend it in bed, reading medical books and practicing sutures so I don’t get rusty.” Sure enough, she nods toward the dresser, where he notices a stack of neatly folded scrubs, no doubt patched up with some of the best sutures any ER has ever seen (neither of them are particularly domestic people, but they don’t really throw out clothes because of rips).

Mario just laughs and wiggles a little close, bring up a hand to brush against her swollen stomach, while Noa shakes her head, clearly still in a bad mood about being placed on best rest for the last three weeks of her pregnancy. It’s only been three days since their surprise visit in their own ER and she’s not taking the lack of activity well. “It’s going to fly by,” he reassures her, pressing a kiss to the top of her stomach before maneuvering himself forward to give her a kiss as well. “Before you know it we’ll both be at home for six weeks, more tired than after any double shift at Angels.”

That at least coaxes a smile out of her. “At least I won’t be bored then.”

She talks a big game, but he’d seen how worried she was three days ago, barking orders at some of the residents in a way that had definitely made Dr. Rorish proud (even if she’d also had to firmly remind Noa that she was the patient, not the doctor). “I think we’re going to miss being bored,” Mario muses, taking a second the contemplate on how on earth he managed to get to this place in his life.

Who would have thought, way back in his first year, that not only would he survive residency at Angels Memorial but come out on the other side with a full time job at the same hospital, a great group of friends and a brilliant woman who understood him, didn’t take any of his crap and was willing to start a family with him?

God knows he wouldn’t have.

"Maybe," she relents, "but I think we can handle it."


End file.
